


Damn you too, for making me unable to stop loving you

by worldinmymind



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I could never write anything without a happy ending because I am weak and cry at everything, M/M, but I promise it gets better, but it is mostly in passing really so I didn't add them in the character tags..., some other characters turn up too for a while, the story is kinda post-breakup I guess, there is a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:56:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldinmymind/pseuds/worldinmymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander had always had a way with words. His words had gotten him in trouble before. But his words had also always gotten him out of it. Now, however, it seemed like he had outdone himself. At the worst possible time, and in the worst possible way. He had crafted his words so masterfully, built the perfect trap. And then he had shut himself into it, and there was no way out. Now John was gone, and Alex no longer knew how to breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn you too, for making me unable to stop loving you

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Damaging this apartment" by Billie the Vision and the Dancers. The song came on as I was writing, and while it does not fit exactly with the story, this one line stuck with me.

Fucking Alexander. Why did everyone have to remind John of him? Why did _everything_ have to remind John of him? It was over. Definitely, irrevocably _over_. Alexander had made that very clear.

\-- -- --

Fucking fantastic. He had, once again, destroyed everything. Always. He should not be allowed anything good, because the only thing he ever did was fuck it up.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks full of regret and anger at himself. Two weeks of hopelessness and all-consuming guilt. Two weeks since he had lost his mind and screamed and said all the things he did not mean but said anyway. Two weeks since his boyfriend’s face had been filled with disbelief and hurt and Alex had turned and stormed out of the flat. Two weeks since John.

Two weeks since John, and Alex had not lived during that time.

\-- -- --

At first, he had not believed what he was hearing. There was no way that Alexander was actually saying the things that John thought he was saying. But then he had stormed out of the flat and left John frozen in place, slowly realising what had happened. And then he had been hurt, and then angry. When three days had gone by and John came home to find that Alexander had been over to collect his things, the anger had passed. John had realised that it was really over, that this time there was no fixing it, and something inside him broke. He stopped feeling. He was not even sad so much as completely empty. He sunk down on the sofa and stared out over the apartment. Alexander had not had a lot of things there, but without them, and without _him_ , the flat was infinitely more empty.

Two weeks since Alexander, and John had not lived during that time.

\-- -- --

Alex had almost written to John so many times. He had typed out pages upon pages. And sometimes only a “sorry” or “please let me come back”. But then he erased it again. Because there was nothing he could say to possibly fix what he had done. Not this time. He had always had a way with words. He could talk himself out of or into anything. Admittedly, his words had gotten him in trouble before. But his words had also always gotten him out of it. Now, however, it seemed like he had outdone himself. At the worst possible time, and in the worst possible way. He had crafted his words so masterfully, built the perfect trap. And then he had shut himself into it, and there was no way out. He had not meant anything of what he had said, but he had made it sound believable. And even worse was that he knew that John didn’t really need much convincing, because it was the same things he thought about himself. Alex had spent many hours trying to convince John of how wrong he was. And then he had gone and repeated some of the same things back at him. Because he knew that they were the things that would hurt the most.

He had not even really been mad at John.

\-- -- --

John had almost written to Alexander so many times. He had filled many pages, sentences blending into each other and stumbling over his own words. And sometimes he had only written “I forgive you” or “please come back”. But he had erased it again. Because there was no way Alexander would be interested in coming back. Alexander had always had a way with words. He always managed to say precisely what he meant. So John could not really doubt that Alexander stood behind every word he had said. Right? That was the way Alexander worked. He always said what was on his mind, he always expressed his opinion. But he had also many times told John how utterly wrong he thought all the bad things were. All the bad things and thoughts John had about himself that Alexander had argued against time and time again. And that he then had spit right back in John’s face. Just as convincing then as when he argued against it.

Alexander always said what was on his mind and he always managed to express what he meant. And now John did not know what to believe. But he did know that all it would take was Alexander saying he was sorry, and John would take him back in a heartbeat.

But it had been obvious Alexander was not interested in that.

\-- -- --

Two weeks and two days and Alex did not know if he could take it any longer. The self-hate and regret had chewed him up and spit him back out again, knocking the air out of his lungs and leaving him shaking and exhausted. John was gone and Alex was no longer sure of how to breathe. Nor, for that matter, was he sure what the point of breathing was. John was gone and it was Alex’s fault, and every place he went reminded him of John.

And every time, his heart broke a little more.

\-- -- --

Two weeks and three days and John was sure he could not take it any longer. He lay in his darkened bedroom, staring up at the ceiling, the only sound his heart beating out a steady rhythm of “he’s gone”, “he’s gone”, “he’s gone”. John was not even sure why his heart continued beating. As far as he was concerned, it was just pointless. He had stopped leaving the flat, because every place he went reminded him of Alexander.

And every time, it felt like a blow to the stomach.

\-- -- --

Two weeks and four days. Alex had not known it was possible to feel any worse than he had when he first realised what he had actually said to John. Yet, with every passing day, he learnt how wrong he had been. Now he found himself outside what he had once thought of as their apartment. Technically, it had only been John’s but Alex had all but moved in. Before. Now the pain and regret that was threatening to swallow him whole was worse than ever.

He had not intended to go here. But, not wanting to go home to his lonely dorm room, when his classes were over he had just mindlessly wandered the city. New York – the greatest city in the world. That was how he had felt when he first came here. A great city full of opportunities, so different from everything he had left behind. Now the bustling streets made him feel trapped, lost in the city’s vastness. And without thinking, his feet had led him to the place where he had felt most at home.

Both Lafayette, Hercules and the three Schyulers had tried to contact him, multiple times. Even Burr had called once. But he had never answered. He knew what they would say. He knew they would be angry and he knew how they would blame him. And whilst they would be absolutely right, he was doing a good enough job on his own. He thought that if he was forced to listen to the disappointment in their voices too, and not only in his own, he would probably fall apart completely. Then again, he guessed he deserved it.

\-- -- --

Two weeks and four days. John had not thought it was possible to feel this hollow and still be alive. Yet, his heart stubbornly continued beating. He still had not left the flat. Hercules and Lafayette had been over to try and get him out, but he had not even got out of the bed, and when they barely managed to get three words out of him they had given up and left. Laf had been back two days later with Eliza. Together they had cleaned up in the flat and insisted in cooking dinner. John had not found it in him to argue, instead sitting quietly on a kitchen chair, staring straight ahead and letting their words wash over him. It had been a relief when they left.

Now he was sitting in the same kitchen chair, a day later. He had forced himself out of bed with the vague idea that he should probably eat _something_ , if only because he knew his friends would be upset if they ever found out he hadn’t. And he did not have the strength to deal with that.

\-- -- --

Alex stared at the apartment building, awash in memories of him and John together in this place. Late nights stumbling home, drunk and half carrying each other, laughing when the other struggled with the code to the door. Sunny afternoons, walking hand in hand on their way to the grocery store or just out for a walk. Early mornings, goodbye kisses outside the door before heading off in opposite directions. The first time they kissed, after having been out for lunch with Herc and Laf, Alex walking John home as an excuse to continue talking to him. They had stopped outside of John’s building, neither wanting to be the one to say goodbye even though it was October and freezing and it had just stared to rain. John had stood there, the wind whipping a few loose curls into his face, raindrops mingling with his constellations of freckles, laughing at something Alex had said. In that moment, John had looked so beautiful that it knocked the air out of Alex, and he had thrown all caution to the wind and kissed him.

Wave after wave of memories, and Alex could not keep his head above the surface. Now there was no John, and Alex was drowning.

It would be so easy, Alex thought. So easy to cross the street, go through the door and up the three flights of stairs to John’s flat. So easy to knock on the door.

What would happen next would not be as easy though. Because what would happen next would be that he would see John. And John would see him and be reminded of the pain and the hurt. That look on John’s face had already shattered Alex’s heart once. He could not bear to see it again, and know that he was the cause of it. No. Better to leave. That way, John would not have to be reminded of all the horrible things.

Alex turned, mind dark, heart heavy, and walked away. He had caused enough pain already.

\-- -- --

John stared out through the window at the crowded street below, trying to suppress the memories of him and Alexander sitting here together. Late nights when both were too tired to say much, comfortable in the silence, in just knowing the other person was there. Early mornings, both on their way to different places, dancing around each other in the small space and somehow managing not to collide, only stopping to exchange quick kisses. Lazy Saturday afternoons, lost in their separate worlds, typing away on computers or buried in books, every now and then looking up at the other and smiling fondly. Friday nights with takeout and Alexander talking about anything and everything that was on his mind, ranting about Jefferson or explaining a new idea he’d had or a new thing he was writing.

The memories would not be suppressed, and John was drowning. Alexander was gone, and John’s air had disappeared.

Alexander was gone from John’s life, but he was still very much present in his mind. That was why he first thought that he was only imagining the figure he was seeing down on the opposite side of the street. Sitting bolt upright, heart beating its way out of his chest, John blinked hard. The figure was still there – Alexander was standing on the busy sidewalk. Before he even had time to register what was happening, John’s door was closing behind him with a bang and he was halfway down the first flight of stairs.

John was running, mind hopeful, heart soaring, flying down the stairs. Maybe the pain could end at last.

\-- -- --

Two weeks and four days and John was gone from Alex’s life. He was, however, the only thing present in Alex’s mind. That was why he was sure he had imagined it, when he first heard the voice calling his name. Freezing mid-step, heart beating a crescendo somewhere in his throat, he turned around, looking back down the street towards the building he had just left. John was standing in the same spot Alex had recently vacated, looking around frantically, his face morphing into a look of devastation.

“Alexander?” Much quieter this time, filled with uncertainty. He sounded broken, and hearing it made Alex break himself. But John still looked more beautiful than Alex’s mind had ever managed to do justice, and unable to stop himself, not even conscious of making a decision, Alex felt himself taking a tentative step back towards him.

“John?”

\-- -- --

It was quiet, nearly drowned out in the sounds of the city all around. But he had definitely heard it – his name, Alexander’s voice. John desperately scanned the crowd, and there he was. Hair messy and barely still in its ponytail, circles under his eyes darker than ever, and still the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. Alexander was really there, and John could feel the world come flooding back in.

\-- -- --

Alex saw John’s face light up and he couldn’t believe it. Then he was walking quickly and then he was running and then, suddenly, John was right in front of him and Alex stopped. John looked like a switch had been turned on inside him and light was shining out and Alex did not deserve it. It could not be right. He had been so sure John would never want to see him ever again.

\-- -- --

Suddenly, Alexander was right in front of him and John could not believe it. He felt like someone had turned a switch inside him and filled him with light again. Slowly, hesitantly, afraid that the illusion would shatter and he would find himself alone once more, he put a hand up to Alexander’s face. It was warm beneath his fingers. Warm and solid and real.

“Alexander?” he breathed out and this time, his voice was filled with wonder.

\-- -- --

John’s hand was cupping his cheek, warm and solid and real. Then his name left John’s lips and Alex could feel the world come flooding back in and he thought “maybe I am alive after all”. Then the worlds poured out of him, everything he had felt and thought and tried to write, explanations and apologies and John and John and John.

\-- -- --

Alexander’s words washed over him, his voice filling him and John could only partly take in what he was actually saying, so consumed by the fact that Alexander was actually _there_ , standing in front of him. Then Alexander paused for breath and John could not hold himself back any longer. Reaching out both hands to grasp the front of his jacket, John pulled Alexander towards himself. Then Alexander’s hands tangled in John’s curls and when their lips met John remembered what if felt like to be alive.

\-- -- --

Not everything was okay yet. There was still lots to talk about, lots to apologise for and lots to forgive. But they were back where they should be. Together. And despite it all, the future was looking bright. Despite it all, the future was looking full of life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I apologise for the pain, but hopefully the ending made up for it... comments and kudos are always welcome ^^  
> I hope you all have a wonderful day/evening/night/whatever time of day it is for you, and I love you all <3


End file.
